poking whole cloves until my fingers bled
tangerines as love and other citrus as memories from the past
hello my friend[s]
i almost didn’t even try to write a note today. life gets busy, writing gets tedious, thoughts start feeling more like a pang of annoyance than happiness, and i just really want to go to bed and call it a night. but then i see something good and that all melts away. in could cry just thinking about you by troye sivan, there’s a line that goes “Every line I write is something about you” which is really truly how i feel. every time i see something pretty or i write something a bit nice, i think about giving it to you.
so here i am with you this sunday.
it’s 9:39 pm and i’m sitting at my kitchen table. i’m eating leftover poutine i ordered three hours ago. i just submitted the last assignment for one of my classes [all that’s left for this one is an exam now]. i should be writing another research essay but i really can’t bring myself to do it. i’m listening to a playlist i made over the summer [all day i’ve been passing through july era music]. i’m tired, i will admit. but that’s okay. only three more things on my to-do list and then i go home to be cared for and to give care.
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i paused writing because a newsletter i’ve been looking forward to all day just got published. i was excited because i knew it contained words about food as a type of love. and if you know me, you know that is my favourite type of food. as i read the words hungrily, i stopped halfway through. i stopped and i read slower. this is what i read:
I used to joke that I would stop feeling lonely once I found someone who was always willing to peel a clementine for me. I have short, weak nails from years of biting and have never been able to properly peel one. Recently, I’ve been buying bags of imperfect clementines and having a few a day. I use a knife to peel them. More often than not, I cut too deep into its skin and the juice gets all over my hand and the smell of it fills the kitchen. It stains my skin like perfume. I’m reminded of this poem:
ABUNDANCE by Amy Schmidt in memory of Mary Oliver It’s impossible to be lonely when you’re zesting an orange. Scrape the soft rind once and the whole room fills with fruit. Look around: you have more than enough. Always have. You just didn’t notice until now.
these words are from tara. i read those words and i started crying, right here at my dining table with my back to my kitchen.
last wednesday, i got a tangerine on my skin forever. my favourite tattoo artist recently created appointment spots and i was able to create a piece with her. i wanted an orange because of love.
i love them because they remind me of christmas day at my house with stockings stuffed with oranges and pomegranates. i love them because they remind me of poking whole cloves into their flesh until my fingers bled. i love them because they remind me of being 3 years old and living in montenegro, with all related memories attached. i love them because they remind me of my mom’s friend who used to buy a case of oranges before my sibling went to their house because she knew they were their favourites. i love them because they are so easy to share.
a few weeks ago i wasn’t able to go out of my house and i missed a lot of classes. i went to the office hour of my favourite professor to try my best to catch up. i ended up sitting across from her, sharing her desk, while i did worksheets and she updated our class website. at some point, she reached into her bag and pulled out a tangerine and a banana. she peeled the tangerine in silence. she carefully broke the citrus into uneven halves. she gently placed the larger half in front of me. then she said, “it’s just awful to smell how wonderful oranges are and not have any”. we ate our slices together, in silence. i caught up on all my missed assignments. i got a half-peeled tangerine on my skin forever.
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i’ve had a note written down in a notebook for the better part of three weeks and this feels like the perfect place to put it. little windows into my connections to citrus, in honour of in-season fruit.
tangerines: montenagro; the smell alone makes me feel like a child
grapefruits: cut in half and a knife gently seperated the fruit from the segments, covered in homemade lemon curd. eaten for breakfast
large oranges: christmas, c, cut into big smiles one after the other, the same knife seeing five oranges one after the other
lemons: used to make curds, add to soups and bowls, lemon bars from that bakery that he never ended up bringing to me
limes: montreal, shots taken with friends and everything post
i have thought about the art exhibit the meditated motion by olafur eliasson for the entire day. as a person who studies environmental sustainability in school, loves participating in things, wants to connect people with nature more, and has a never-ending love for art, this exhibit is everything i love and more. expect a full analysis soon. please, read this brief description from his website:
Eliasson installed, in collaboration with the landscape architect Günther Vogt, a work that spanned all four levels of the building and led the viewer from one landscape situation to another. On the ground floor, visitors first encountered a collection of logs sprouting shiitake mushrooms (Lentinula edodes). Moving to the levels above, they came across a pond with floating duckweed (Lemna minor) on level one, which they could cross via a series of pontoons, and a floor of gently sloping, compressed soil on level two. On the top floor, a suspension bridge spanning a room full of fog terminated abruptly at a blank wall, forcing visitors to return along their original route. A staircase of roughly hewn wood was built on top of the existing concrete stairs, creating an unbroken transition from one landscape situation to the next.
more photos are available through the above link <3
it’s now 10:29 pm, i’m yawning but i need to continue with my homework for the day. where does the time go?
stay warm, stay safe. will you peel a tangerine for someone this week? i hope so- they’re made for sharing. be kind. i love you.
xx delphi
p.s.
i made an instagram account of some of the little things i see or do that impact these notes one way or another. follow along if you wish <3
poking whole cloves until my fingers bled
“”every time i see something pretty or i write something a bit nice, i think about giving it to you.”” my heart is melted. it is peeled like the sweet clementine who lives on your body. your words are like an old friend from a light, spiritual place that come and sprinkle some moonlight over my sunday night. your words are special to me. thank you